


Avoiding Cold Feet (Twenty-Five Dryers It Is)

by coffeejunkii



Series: Warm Socks Series [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Feels, Cuddling & Snuggling, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Protective Phil Coulson, how to deal with feelings 101, warm socks are everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint loves warm socks straight from the dryer. Phil knows exactly what to do about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avoiding Cold Feet (Twenty-Five Dryers It Is)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts), [mapleandmahogany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/gifts).



> This fic comes out of a conversation that I had with Ralkana and Maple months ago. Enjoy!

“Ohhhhh my gooooooood.”

Phil's head snaps up at Clint's groan, his finger pressing down on a key to produce an accidental line of xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx in the middle of his report. “You okay?” Phil knows the sounds Clint makes when he's in pain; these are rather the opposite.

Clint walks into the safehouse living room, gesturing at his feet. “Warm socks! From the dryer. There's a dryer in here!” Clint sinks into the couch, arms and legs sprawling. He's in boxer briefs, a T-shirt, and the aforementioned socks. “These socks are the best.” He groans again and wiggles his toes.

Phil drags his gaze back to his screen, deleting the last line of his report. “Glad to hear it, Barton.” He can't help sneaking glances of Clint, who keeps making small pleased noises as he slips into sleep.

When Phil has finished his report and some additional notes, he gets a blanket from the closet and spreads it over Clint. He makes sure to tuck it around his feet. One of Clint's arms dangles over the side of the couch in a way that overextends his elbow. Phil gently pushes it back onto the cushion.

Clint's eyes blink open. “Hrmmm?”

“It's nothing,” Phil says softly. “Go back to sleep.” He keeps his hand on Clint's forearm until he is asleep again.

Phil almost sighs when he turns toward the bedroom, then promptly rolls his eyes. This—whatever it is—is getting out of hand.

***

Phil hesitates, pen poised over the dotted line. Twenty-five dryers for various houses and apartments around the world isn't a big expense by SHIELD standards, but it still feels like an extravagant request. Probably because Phil knows exactly why he added them to the list of safehouse upgrades. But the dryers wouldn't only benefit Clint. All agents staying in those locations would benefit. Phil likes to make sure that safehouses not only provide physical protection for agents, but also a comfortable environment.

He signs the request.

Five hours later, he is summoned to Fury's office.

“Phil. Sit. Care to explain why there are twenty-five dryers on the annual upgrade list?” Fury flicks the sheet of paper in his direction.

Phil takes a seat and tries for his blandest voice. “Recent insights have led me to the realization that a dryer could significantly improve the quality of life during a safehouse stay. Especially for long-term ops.”

Fury leans forward in his chair. “And which op led you to those insights?”

Phil meets his gaze. “The Buenos Aires interception, if you must know. With Agent Barton.”

“Is that so. With Agent Barton.”

“Yes.”

“And was Agent Barton the one who...enjoyed the availability of the dryer in the safehouse?”

Phil forces himself to keep his eyes steady on Fury. “Yes. It significantly improved the downtime after we completed our assignment.”

Fury's expression slides into wry amusement. He signs his name to authorize the request. “Twenty-five dryers. That's one hell of courtship you have going on there.”

“It's not—I mean—”

Fury holds up his hand. “Just tell the man how you feel already, Cheese. If the rumor mill holds, that feeling's mutual.”

Phil sighs. He ignores Fury's comment and leaves.

“Try dinner and a movie!”

Phil shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary.

***

“Didn't R&D promise these boots would be a hundred percent waterproof?”

Static crackles through the comm line, mixing with the steady rainfall that drums onto the roof of the sheld from which Phil is directing the op. “They did.”

“Well, they need to take these back to the drawing board. The top of my socks is starting to feel damp.”

“It's been raining hard for almost twelve hours, Barton.”

“They promised! Don't they test these things? You know I hate wet socks. Wet socks are—” There's an intake of breath, and Clint's tone of voice changes. “Target acquired. Do I have permission to shoot?”

“Permission granted.” Phil listens as Clint regulates his breathing and aims. It's easy for Phil to see it in his mind's eye, having watched Clint on the range for far too many hours. He exhales right alongside Clint once he releases the arrow.

“Target down. See you at the safehouse in thirty.”

“Understood.”

***

“Holy shit, there's a dryer here!” Clint drips water all over the floor, and was cursing up a storm about being drenched, but now looks like he wants to hug the appliance.

“There've been some upgrades,” Phil mumbles as he goes through his bag in search of dry clothes. He didn't get quite as soaked as Clint, but his clothes are mostly wet, too.

“I'm putting everything in there. Well, not the tac vest. But everything else.” Clint starts stripping with glee, tossing one piece of clothing after another into the dryer.

Phil finds the bottom of his bag fascinating.

“Okay, I'm getting in the shower while this runs. There better be good water pressure here...”

Phil catches sight of Clint's back—and ass and legs—as he disappears into the bathroom. It's nothing he hasn't seen before, but, as always, it leaves more of an impression than it should. Phil vows to stay on the couch, facing away from the bathroom door, until Clint is fully clothed again.

**  
As Clint busies himself with the dryer after his shower, Phil keeps his eyes firmly on his tablet. 

“Aww, shirt, no.”

Phil continues to study the neat rows of numbers on the screen. “What happened?”

Clint’s voice is muffled by fabric. “My shirt shrank. I just wanted to make sure that it, y’know, is still warm after my shower. But…” He sighs. “Guess I picked the wrong setting.”

“I have a T-shirt left if you—” Phil’s words dry up as Clint wanders into his field of vision. His shirt and boxer briefs look like they have been painted on.

Clint gestures at his feet. “Even the socks shrank! I’m having a word with R&D about this when we’re back.” He flops into the arm chair across from Phil.

“Um, yes, that is a—a good idea.” Phil can’t quite manage to look away from the sprawl of limbs in his direct line of sight.

“At least they’re warm. The socks. And everything.”

“Hmm-mm.” Phil knows that SHIELD gear is designed for optimum flexibility during strenuous activity and is thus made to move with the body, but the way the fabric stretches across Clint’s…everything borders on obscene.

“When’s the evac again?” Clint asks, head tipped back against the arm of the chair because normal laws of furniture don’t apply to Clint Barton.

“10:30am.” Phil holds Clint’s gaze for a moment. There’s a great deal of appeal in Clint’s body, but what really gets Phil is when Clint looks at him like this: eyes soft and trusting, not bothering to hide himself away. “Plenty of time for a good night’s sleep.” The tight lines etched in Clint’s face say enough about how much he needs it. Hell, so does Phil. 

Clint nods and reaches for his phone. 

As so often when they’re having downtime together, Phil thinks he should just tell Clint. Come clean about the feelings that have steadily built over the years. Phil knows that Clint considers him an important person in his life, and, yes, the SHIELD rumor mill may even be right about mutual feelings. But ultimately, it always seems like too much of a risk. Phil doesn’t want to risk what he has with Clint. Even if Clint is interested in something more than friendship, he may only want something casual, like many of the other agents do. An arrangement because any sort of romantic relationship with someone outside of SHIELD is difficult. Phil gets that. It’s not what he wants with Clint, though. He wants Clint not only in his bed, but in his life—well, in the areas of life that aren’t already filled with Clint.

Phil forces the circling thoughts to the back of his mind and returns to the statistical breakdown of this mission.

When they turn in for the night, they have their usual “you take the couch – no, _you_ take the couch” argument. Clint wins this time. Phil helps him make up the couch and then shuffles off to the bedroom. He’s exhausted.

***  
It feels like he’s only been asleep for five minutes when a knock on the door wakes Phil. “Yeah?” He fumbles for the switch of the lamp on the nightstand.

Clint’s head appears in the door. “Sorry, boss, but I was wondering if you had another blanket?”

Phil rubs a hand over his face and sits up. As the heavy down comforter slides off, he can feel the chill in the room. “Try the closet.” The skin on his arm prickles from the cold. “Did we forget to leave the heating on?”

Clint rummages through shelves and drawers. “Think it went out. It wasn’t that bad at first.” He straightens after looking through the boxes on the closet floor. 

“No luck?”

“Nah. But that’s okay. I’ll make do. Sorry to wake you up.”

Phil realizes that Clint is wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. Not at all his usual bed attire, which leans toward “the less, the better.” Before Phil’s sleep-addled brain can process this, Clint slips through the door.

Phil stares after him. He pulls the comforter tighter around him because it’s damned cold in the room.

So cold, in fact, that Clint is probably wearing most of the clothes he’s brought on the trip.

Fuck.

“Clint, wait!” Phil calls out.

Footsteps, and then Clint looks through the half-open door. “Yeah?”

Phil isn’t exactly sure how to convey his idea in words. “This comforter is really warm and the bed’s big enough.”

Clint frowns at him. 

Right, not Phil’s best phrasing. “I mean, you’re welcome to share. The bed. With me.”

Clint pulls back. “I’ll be fine, it’s not that bad and—”

“Clint.” Softer, Phil adds, “It’s freezing.”

Clint hesitates, but then climbs into bed next to Phil. “Shit, you weren’t kidding about this comforter.”

Phil settles on his side, facing Clint. “I didn’t even notice that the heating had gone out.”

“Thanks,” Clint mumbles. He keeps close to the edge of the bed.

Phil wants to point out that he can take up more space, that Phil doesn’t mind if their knees bump. But he holds the words inside, glad that Clint even accepted the invitation to share the bed.

Phil turns off the lamp, closes his eyes, and tries to go back to sleep. 

Despite how tired he is, Phil cannot drift off. There’s something off about Clint’s breathing, and he’s too still. Clint isn’t a quiet sleeper.

“You okay?” Phil whispers.

Clint hums in agreement, but it comes out in a strange stutter.

Phil lets his fingers slide across the mattress until he can curl them around Clint’s wrist. He touches skin that is far too cold. Phil spreads out his hand, feels more icy skin under his palm. 

Clint lets out a pained noise, and Phil realizes that Clint’s holding himself so still because he’s freezing—so much so in fact that his whole body is shivering.

“Jesus, Clint, how long were you out there after the heating went out?”

“Not—not that long.” A blatant lie.

Phil shifts closer so he can reach more of Clint. Rub some warmth into him. Clint only shivers more. He must be thoroughly chilled. Phil won’t stand for it if Clint catches a cold or worse.

“Okay, I’ll just…” Phil slides close enough to Clint to wrap an arm around his waist. Clint tenses. “It’s okay. You need to get warm.” Phil runs his hand down Clint’s back. 

Clint doesn’t move, still as tense as before, but Phil keeps at it, keeps stroking up and down, up and down, until Clint finally slumps against him, a whine slipping past his lips.

“I got you,” Phil whispers. “I got you.”

Clint’s arm goes around Phil’s back, which brings their bodies flush together. Even through the layers Clint is wearing, Phil can feel the cold. At least Clint’s face doesn’t feel too cold when he tucks it against Phil’s neck. 

They stay like that for a while. Clint’s shivering subsides and his breaths lengthen. A comfortable warmth builds between them.

“Thank you,” Clint says.

“You’re welcome,” Phil replies automatically. He expects Clint to pull away, but he doesn’t. Now it’s Phil’s turn not to move, lest he upset this delicate balance. 

Eventually, Clint does move his upper body away far enough to drag his hoodie over his head. He flings it over the side of the bed. “Too damn hot.”

It draws a laugh out of Phil. This is much more like Clint. It’s reassuring.

When Clint settles down again, he looks at Phil. There’s just enough light coming in through the blinds that Phil can see the uncertainty in Clint’s eyes. Their legs are still tangled, but there’s a good foot of space between them otherwise.

“What?” Phil asks. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up.” Clint’s voice trembles. His eyes drop to Phil’s chest.

Phil waits until Clint looks up again. “You are not fucking this up. I promise.”

Clint touches his fingers to the side of Phil’s neck, sliding up until he’s cradling Phil’s head. His thumb strokes from Phil’s ear to his jaw. 

Phil keeps very still even though his heart is trying to jump out of his chest. His skin prickles again, but for very different reasons than earlier. 

Clint huffs out a laugh. “Okay, help me out here.”

That laugh makes everything easier. Phil smiles and moves closer. “Pretty sure you know how the next part goes.”

“Show me.”

Oh.

Yes.

Phil brings their lips together. It’s bumpy, as first kisses go, so they try again, and it’s better, especially when Clint rolls onto his back, pliant and inviting. This could easily spiral into something heated and rushed, but they both draw back before that can happen. Phil’s relieved that they seem to be in agreement about that. The want simmers between them—no mistake there. But not here. Not on SHIELD’s time.

Clint keeps his fingers tangled in Phil’s hair. “Please tell me you’re also scheduled for mandatory time off after this mission.”

“I am.”

Clint grins. “I may have ideas about what we could do.”

Phil smiles and shakes his head as images flit through his head. Yeah, he has some ideas, too. “Clint…” He sobers. “Is this just about spending some time off together?”

Uncertainty sneaks back into Clint’s eyes. It’s all Phil needs to know. “So it’s not just that?” Phil asks softly. He runs a hand slowly down Clint’s chest and over to his side and back again.

Clint shakes his head. 

“What, then?”

Clint blinks slowly. When he looks at Phil again, it’s with determination. “I don’t want just a fling. I know there’s talk going round about me—” There is. But Phil has never put much stock into it. “But that’s not what I want. With you.”

Clint’s heartbeat spikes under Phil’s hand. Phil knows exactly how scared Clint must be to have laid himself that bare. “I don’t, either.”

“This has to be for real, Phil.”

It’s maybe the second time Clint has called him by his first name, and the last time Phil was shot. “It is. I promise it is.”

Clint makes a desperate noise and pulls Phil in for another kiss. Clint’s fingers keep kneading the back of Phil’s neck as they kiss, almost as if he can’t contain all the feelings running through him. Phil lets himself fall into this, lips and tongues and all.

Clint gently brings them down. “I want so much more of this, but. Later.”

Phil smiles. “Sleep now?”

Clint bursts out laughing. “Fuck me, I don’t know if I can sleep now. But maybe…” Clint turns into Phil’s side again and presses himself close. “This?”

Phil winds an arm around him. “This is good.”


End file.
